


Knights and Cops

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [58]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Turn of the Tide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25842271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: As the era of Camelot draws to a close, Sir Leon and Sir Percival lead some of Camelot’s last knights against a hydra.  In the present day, Spike finds himself on the wrong side of a hot call.  In the blink of an eye, two times collide and a knight discovers what it means to trust magic.
Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [58]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/538363
Comments: 30
Kudos: 13





	1. From Two Sides of Time

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the fifty-eighth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Son of The Fox".
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

_Toronto_

“Entry on my mark,” Ed hissed over the comm, eyes narrow as he judged the target house. “Boss?”

“I see him,” Greg reported. “Pacing near green wall. Three other occupants, all on a couch, watching the game.”

The team leader smirked; his boss’s gryphon side could be a royal _pain_ , but the super-vision – he was almost jealous of it some days. “Mark.”

The ram bashed through the door, followed by Wordy and Sam. “Police!”

“Hands in the air!”

“SRU!”

“Weapons down, do it now!”

* * * * *

_Camelot_

The knight eyed the creature they’d come to kill. It hissed, the head and neck looking very much like a gigantic snake along with two leathery frills on each side of its head. The body of the creature reminded Sir Leon of the dragon. Not the Great Dragon, but the dragon he’d seen at Camlann, sickly and deformed, but still dangerous. Vicious and totally loyal to the Witch.

“There is the hydra, sir knight,” the villager announced, gesturing with his torch while the rest of Camelot’s knights caught up with the pair.

Blue eyes narrowed. “No tail?”

“None that we have seen, sir knight. Only the head.” The villager hesitated, then added, “It seems to fear fire.”

Interesting. “Thank you for guiding us here,” Sir Leon said. “We’ll handle it from here.”

The villager fled while Sir Leon gestured for the knights to fan out. Sir Percival stepped up next to the First Knight. The tall noble traded glances with the brawny commoner knight, both re-affirming what they already knew. Standing together. To the end.

Then Sir Leon yelled, “For Camelot!” and Sir Percival charged, sword flashing as it cut through the creature’s neck.

For a moment, the knights stared at the creature as it screeched in pain and collapsed, feeling as though the battle had been rather…anti-climatic.

Then two heads grew back, each as large as the first and just as vicious.

* * * * *

_Toronto_

The speed of Team One’s entry caught most of the gang off guard. Before any of them could go for weapons, they were covered by the SRU’s submachine guns. Three more gang members charged in, firing recklessly at the officers; Parker half-snarled as he clotheslined one and executed a picture-perfect takedown while Wordy and Ed swung around to cover the other two.

In the confusion, their primary subject fled, darting into the darker areas of the house and escaping before Team One could nab him. “Subject on the move!” Sam yelled, racing after the man.

“Spike, keep your eyes open,” Wordy ordered.

In the house’s garage, the bomb tech nodded fiercely. “Copy. He won’t get past me.”

“Lou, Jules?” Ed called.

“Got two more,” Lou reported in. “Down and cuffed.”

“Copy that.” Glancing over at his boss, the team leader asked, “You good?”

Parker inclined his head, though a frown appeared. “Spike, any escape tunnels on the blueprints?”

“Nothing that I saw, Sarge, but this is an old house.”

“Copy,” the Sergeant acknowledged, trading a grim look with Ed. “Sam?”

“I lost him.”

* * * * *

_Camelot_

Leon shouted, yanking Percival back in the nick of time as massive jaws snapped at where the big knight had been only a second before. The other knights let out shouts of their own and charged, slashing through the two new heads’ necks before Leon could stop them.

Four heads grew, one of them lashing out and sending the nearest knight flying into a tree. Two other heads snaked forward, each of them seizing a knight. One bit down and the other smashed its victim into a handy rock. Leon blocked the final head, slamming the hilt of his sword into its overgrown chin as it attempted to take advantage of Percival’s shock.

“Regroup!” the First Knight yelled. Fire. They needed fire. “Percival,” he hissed. “It’s afraid of fire.”

The big knight nodded, but both knights knew. To get fire, they would have to stop fighting the creature long enough to find and light torches. Of the ten knights they’d come with, three were already dead. By the time they got a torch lit – they’d be the only ones left.

* * * * *

_Toronto_

The gang member snarled to himself, furious. So the _pigs_ wanted to play with him and his boys, huh? He’d show _them_ , just as soon as he got out of the _trap_ his home-boy had gotten him into. He should’ve known better – he’d _known_ that girl was nothing but a snitch! Pity he couldn’t return the _favor_.

As he pushed the next door open, he spotted another _pig_ and ducked back, out of sight. Then he frowned. The _pig’s_ back was to him, focused on another door. Smirking, the tattooed, dreadlocked man reached down, sneaking his favorite gun out of its holster. Time to teach the _pigs_ some _manners_.

* * * * *

_Camelot_

Leon threw himself to the side, yelling in frustration as Sir Rannulf went down, eyes already blank and staring above the bloody _wreck_ of his chest. The blasted hydra was up to _twelve_ heads and although he and Percival had _somehow_ managed to get a torch lit, the creature’s heads were efficiently keeping both knights away from its sluggish, vulnerable body.

The last two knights of Camelot locked gazes, each understanding without words. They couldn’t beat this creature. For a moment, the curly-haired knight found himself wishing, with all his heart, that they had a _sorcerer_. One they could _trust_ , one that could’ve helped them _beat_ this monster. A name darted through his mind and he shook it away, bitter regrets twisting his insides.

Then Sir Leon, First Knight of Camelot and one of the last Knights of the Round Table, lifted his sword and charged.

* * * * *

_Toronto_

The gangster sneered as he crept out of the hidden tunnel, gun lifting towards the oblivious _pig_ watching the door.

* * * * *

Leon nearly sprawled on the ground as he stumbled to a halt, dazed. The hydra was gone, as was the forest and the bodies of his fellow knights. Instead, he stood in a stone building, behind two people, one of whom was creeping towards the other. Neither had noticed his sudden arrival. Shifting back, Leon’s shoulder struck Percival’s chest and relief nearly crushed the knight. He wasn’t alone.

The curly-haired light brunet’s attention shifted back to the other two men. Both were dressed in clothing unlike anything Leon had ever seen before, but the closest one… _Bandit,_ his instincts hissed. The bandit lifted something and instinct crystallized.

In the days when he’d served under his King, the knight _never_ would’ve considered stabbing a man in the back, but Leon had learned a valuable lesson at Camlann. Honor matters _nothing_ to a corpse. In one fluid move, Sir Leon ran the bandit through.

* * * * *

Spike snapped around at the unmistakable sound of metal slicing through flesh, gun lifting automatically. Then he froze, jaw dropping open as his hands sagged in utter _shock_.

Standing over the body of their primary subject – were two knights of _Camelot_. Complete with shiny armor and _swords_. And blood.


	2. Not in Kansas Anymore

Constable Michelangelo ‘Spike’ Scarlatti had seen quite a bit since finding out about magic. He’d learned how to work around spells, identify potions, fight both wizards and magical creatures. He’d time-traveled to save the world, gone into a demon realm to rescue his boss, and fought to keep the peace, no matter what. He’d even found out that Merlin was a real person and Camelot had been a real place – a place where magic had been _outlawed_ , on pain of death. In short, Spike had seen it all.

Staring at two Camelotean knights, their hair disheveled, their armor scored and bloody, and their swords even bloodier, Spike realized. No matter how much he’d seen, there was _always_ something he _hadn’t_ seen and couldn’t comprehend. Like two men from the Middle Ages showing up in modern day Toronto and saving his life.

Which they had; their victim and Team One’s primary subject lay in a widening pool of blood, revolver still clenched tightly in his hands. Behind him and the knights, Spike finally saw what he’d missed. An open door that led into the main part of the house. Even with the door swinging on its hinges, Spike could see that the outside of the door was adorned with tools and gardening equipment. Little wonder he hadn’t realized there were two doors in the garage.

* * * * *

Leon gawped openly at the second man. The stance reminded the knight of Camelot’s best guardsmen, those who were well trained and used to fighting alongside himself and his fellow knights. Dark eyes were wide with surprise and even a bit of fear; the guardsman’s black hair stuck up all over, matching the hue of his clothing. He wasn’t wearing armor and the object in his hands – it _had_ to be a weapon, for the man held it as such. Perhaps a crossbow of sorts?

Beside Leon, Percival shifted uneasily, inspecting their surroundings and thoroughly unnerved by how _strange_ they were. The walls and roof were easily identifiable, if structured differently than both knights were used to, but the objects scattered hither and yon… Leon longed to know _what_ they were and what they did.

Silence hung, increasing the tension around the three. After a few moments, Leon asked, **“Who are you?”**

* * * * *

Spike came close to jumping right out of his skin. That…hadn’t been English. Not _modern_ English and not Old English – _Narnian,_ his mind whispered – either. But he’d understood the knight. Perfectly. How?

“Spike! Report in!”

The bomb tech winced at Ed’s bark, but raised his hand to the comm nonetheless. “No harm,” he reported. “Subject is down.”

“Down?” the Boss pressed. “Spike?”

Glancing between the dead subject and the tensing knights, Spike mentally gulped and lifted a finger in an attempt to get them to hold on a moment. “Yeah, subject’s down, Boss. And…um…we got a problem.” One that had just gotten worse, he just _knew it_ ; his radio wasn’t magic, but to any one from the Middle Ages, it probably _looked_ like magic.

* * * * *

Leon stiffened when the man winced and lifted a hand to his ear, speaking in another language as he glanced between Leon, Percival, and the dead bandit. The tone was brisk, that of a guardsman reporting in, but there was _no one_ to _report_ to! Unless the guardsman was using _magic_. Or insane.

Glancing up at Percival, Leon did his best to silently communicate his concern. The big knight nodded agreement, shoulders stiff with tension as he eyed the possible sorcerer on the other side of the stone building.

A sound came from the doorway and Leon’s tension coiled as two more men appeared, dressed much the same as the first guardsman. One was just as tall as Leon himself and bald with piercing blue eyes. The other was of a similar height and build to the first guardsman, with blond hair that reminded Leon, painfully, of his King. Especially since the blond’s eyes were _also_ blue, though his hair was much shorter. Both newcomers started at the sight of the two knights with their swords partially raised.

* * * * *

“Whoa,” Sam breathed. Spike hadn’t been kidding – how were they supposed to explain that their primary warrant subject had been killed by two guys straight out of the Middle Ages? Then the blond’s gaze snagged on the knights’ crests. Dragon. _Pendragon_. As in, _Camelot_. As in, magic-hating, witch-burning Camelot. Oh. _Joy._

**“You are using magic?”** the curly-haired, bearded, brunet knight demanded.

The sniper’s jaw dropped open. Behind him, he could practically _feel_ Ed gawping, too.

* * * * *

**“No!”** the first guardsman blurted, jerking back briefly in surprise as if his own sentence had caught him off guard.

**“No?”** Leon repeated, eyes narrowing and his sword shifting up to the ready position.

**“It’s technology,”** the guardsman babbled out, releasing his weapon; it dangled on a strap of some kind and Leon found himself reluctantly impressed. The guardsman could hardly lose his weapon to an attacker if it was attached to his clothing. **“No magic at all,”** the man insisted. One hand lifted in a ‘wait’ motion while the other tugged a dark colored device off the man’s belt. Cautiously, the guardsman held it out for Leon and Percival to see. **“It’s called a radio,”** he explained. **“I use it to talk to my teammates.”**

**“We all have them,”** the blond broke in, a flash of startlement darting across his face before he reached down and pulled an identical device off his own belt.

**“Here,”** the raven guardsman offered, edging forward with his…radio. **“Take a look.”**

Leon kept his sword up as Percival reached out and took the object. Both knights inspected the device, Percival prodding at it curiously while Leon divided his attention between the…radio…and the possible sorcerers. A crackling sound rose from the device when Percival turned something at the top; both men jumped, but nothing else happened. The big knight turned the object over in his hands, squinting at the unfamiliar language on the device, but it was nothing like what Leon usually viewed as ‘magical’. It looked more like it had been crafted by a master tradesman, though the knight had little idea as to what sort of smith would craft such an object.

Trading glances with Leon, the big knight offered the device back to its owner. He took it, adjusting the same thing Percival had, though he turned it in the opposite direction and back to its original position. **“What else do you use?”** Percival asked, catching Leon off guard. His fellow knight tended to be rather quiet and a bit shy, even with his friends. But there was an undeniable gleam of interest in the other knight’s dark brown eyes.

The guardsman perked up for an instant, then turned wary and guarded. **“All sorts of stuff,”** he replied vaguely, clipping the radio back to his belt. Turning towards his two fellow guardsman, he asked, “Ed?”

* * * * *

Ed huffed, moving around Sam to inspect the subject. Like Sam and Spike, he’d been able to understand their…guests…perfectly, though how was an open question. Though a better question was, how were Sam and Spike speaking yet _another_ foreign language they’d never heard before?

Crouching in front of the body, the team leader grimaced. Sword, in through the back and out through the chest. Not exactly a _conventional_ way to die in 21st century Toronto. Lifting a hand to his radio, he requested, “Boss, can you come here?”

“On my way,” the Sarge agreed.

Glancing up, Ed turned towards Sam. “Sam, go get some supplies from the truck.”

His fellow sniper made a face, understanding. They were going to have to hide the knights’ swords, but asking them to sheath _bloody_ swords was a bit much. Fortunately, Team One’s supplies did include space blankets.

“Sam, go in my kit,” Spike suggested.

Ed blinked, then nodded approval. Rags – even better than the space blankets. The team leader stayed where he was as the Boss entered, he and Sam doing a bit of a shuffle to avoid a collision in the doorway. Parker’s eyes widened in surprise as he took in the knights, the body, and his teammates’ positions.

“Spike?”

Spike ducked his head, chagrin apparent. “I, uh, I missed a door,” he admitted, gesturing past the knights to the opposite side of the garage where a door hung open. Ed winced internally as he filled in the rest. The subject, about to get the drop on Spike, had been attacked from behind himself. Ironic – two magic-hating knights had saved an Auror.

Greg’s eyes tightened as he regarded his team leader and the knights, clearly ordering his strategy. “Ed?”

The sniper shook his head. “In through the back, looks like it went right through his heart,” he reported. “No way we can classify this call, Boss.” Not a warrant call that shouldn’t have had so much as a _hint_ of magic involved. Regret shone in Ed’s eyes as he looked up. “We’re gonna have to cover this one up, Greg.” And it would have to be Spike who shot the body – no other member of Team One had been in the garage and the transcript already had Sam on record as having lost their primary subject during his pursuit.

Equal regret glimmered in hazel, but the Sergeant nodded, accepting his team leader’s advice without protest. Half-turning, Greg keyed his radio. “Lou, get started on the transcript and audio, please. Wordy, can you help Ed and Spike with the staging?”

“Sure thing, Sarge.”

Cover up dealt with or at least started, Greg shifted his attention to the two unnerved knights. Without skipping a beat, the Sergeant switched his radio off and said, **“I’m Sergeant Greg Parker; Toronto Police Strategic Response Unit.”** Dipping his head in a brief nod, he continued, **“Thank you for rescuing my constable.”**

The tall, curly-haired, and bearded brunet took the lead. **“Sir Leon, Knight of Camelot,”** he introduced himself. Tilting his head sideways, he added, **“This is Sir Percival.”**

Ed was grateful the knights weren’t looking at him – they were knights of the _Round Table_. The only two knights of that august group to survive Camlann. To think that they knew his boss’s ancestor. To think that _these_ were two of _Merlin’s_ closest friends. He traded a quick, awed glance with Spike. Living history, close enough to touch and _talk_ to.

The team leader re-focused on the conversation in time to hear Sir Leon say, **“I’m not sure how we arrived here, Sergeant.”** Flicking another look around the garage, the knight explained, **“We were fighting a hydra on Camelot’s outskirts when suddenly we were here.”**

Greg frowned. **“Nothing magical other than the hydra?”** he probed.

Sir Leon shook his head firmly and Ed was inclined to believe the knight. Given Camelot’s views on magic, there was little chance of the knights missing obvious magic use, even in the middle of a fight. _Although,_ Ed mused, _they never did catch onto Merlin._ He opted not to voice that particular thought.

His boss considered a minute, watching as Sam came back with rags from Spike’s bomb kit. **“Gentlemen,”** the Sergeant said, **“If you’ll bear with my team a bit longer, we can get to another location where we can discuss the situation in more detail and start working on getting you home.”**

The knights traded looks, wary and nervous, but Leon hesitantly voiced agreement with the plan.

“Sam.” The blond sniper passed the rags over before heading over to help Wordy with getting their dead subject upright enough for Spike to shoot the body, so they could cover up the sword wound through the man’s chest. Greg sighed quietly, then offered the rags. **“Clean up your swords and get them sheathed, please. Outside, you’re going to see our transportation; I imagine it will look quite a bit different from what you’re used to, but they’re not magic and they won’t hurt you.”**

**“You don’t have horses?”** Sir Leon asked, surprise ringing.

Greg’s smile was thin. **“It’s been over a thousand years, sir knights. Things change, some more than others.”**

Ed moved to help his teammates, but couldn’t help but notice the fear in the knights’ eyes. He couldn’t blame them. If _he’d_ found himself in a totally different world, _he’d_ probably freak out, too. And probably a whole heck of a lot worse than their two guests.


	3. The Truth About Magic

Leon did his best to keep from looking like he was fleeing the ‘truck’, but given that he’d forgotten about the ‘seatbelt’ and gotten stuck until the friendly guardsman that looked uncannily like Percival freed him… Well. It didn’t help that the black-haired guardsman they’d first met had disappeared, grimacing and muttering something about ‘SIU’ under his breath. Nor did it help that Percival was handling all this ‘technology’ much better than he was. The big, usually quiet knight was chattering away with a tan-skinned guardsman, almost gleeful as he examined the man’s ‘phone’ and poked at the brightly-lit ‘screen’. Despite _knowing_ that nothing around him was magical, the noble just couldn’t shake the feeling that magic _was_ near.

**“Heck of a day, huh?”**

The knight jumped, turning towards the Percival lookalike. A faint scowl appeared. **“How would you know?”** he asked, well aware he sounded like a sullen child and uncaring of that fact.

Amusement flashed across the other man’s face. **“Let’s just say I know what it’s like to find yourself in a completely different world.”**

Leon’s frown deepened, but he said nothing further as the guardsmen led himself and Percival inside the building.

* * * * *

**“You want to send us home with _magic_?”** Leon blurted, jerking backwards in open fear. **“Are you mad?”** Use _magic_? _Trust_ magic? After everything he’d seen, everything he’d gone through? Morgana. Mordred. The old man who’d _promised_ to heal King Uther. Time and time again, magic had _ripped_ away those Leon cared for. Killed good men and _twisted_ others into pale mockeries of themselves.

**“Magic’s not illegal,”** the blond guardsman pointed out, his tone nonchalant.

**“It’s not?”** Percival asked, trading a dismayed glance with Leon. **“Why?”**

The half-bald Sergeant stepped in, clearing his throat. **“Actually, sir knights, most people these days don’t know magic is real. To them, it’s nothing more than myth and legend.”**

Leon gawped in abject horror, but Percival’s gaze sharpened. **“If magic is nothing more than legend, how do _you_ know differently?”** the big knight demanded.

The guardsmen traded looks of their own, as if silently debating how much to share. Leon stiffened, but Percival’s elbow jabbed into his ribs before he could speak. At last, the leader sighed, running a hand over his head and through the remnants of his brown hair. **“My team is signed onto a law called the Official Secrets Act. We’re legally authorized to know about the existence of magic and also authorized to deal with magical…incidents.”**

Leon, no fool, knew there _had_ to be more to the story and bristled. **“You have magic,”** he hissed.

The Sergeant never flinched. **“No member of my team is a sorcerer, Sir Leon.”** One brow arched. **“Actually, Sir Leon, I’m surprised at you. You fear and hate magic even when you know two sorcerers who never once laid a hand on you. Even though magic saved your life. More than once.”**

The noble’s eyes narrowed, fists balling, but he didn’t respond, even as Percival glanced between him and the guardsman in confusion. **“What are you talking about?”** the big knight asked, defensiveness radiating.

The guardsman cocked his head to the side, a gleam in his eyes. **“The Cup of Life,”** he remarked, voice bland.

**“You think _one_ instance of magic helping instead of harming will change my mind?”** Leon hissed.

**“No,”** the other granted. **“But then, I would’ve thought Geoffrey Calvin telling you he was _born_ with magic might’ve made an impression. Especially since I _know_ he also told you Sir Lancelot had magic.”**

Leon felt his insides freeze. **“How do you know that?”** he rasped.

A shrug. **“I’ve read his journal.”**

There was a wealth of meaning behind that simple statement, but Leon was in no state to parse it. Rage welled up, raw fury and anguish and _how-could-he_ , _why-_ would _-he_.

**“Leon?”** Percival’s question was hesitant, fearful. **“Lancelot had magic?”**

Damn them. Damn them for knowing about Geoffrey, for knowing what he’d sworn he’d take to his _grave_. **“That’s what Geoffrey told me,”** Leon replied as evenly as he could. **“He said Lancelot never used it, but that…”**

**“Every member of his family is born with magic,”** the Sergeant finished quietly. **“He wanted you to know, Sir Leon. He _wanted_ you to learn that magic isn’t evil. It depends on how it’s _used_.”**

No. It couldn’t be that simple, not after magic had taken so much from him. From Camelot. It had taken Lancelot, too. After all, what _other_ reason was there for Lancelot to have so _blatantly_ betrayed his King? How _else_ could have Lancelot forced _Gwen_ into _her_ betrayal? No, as soon as Leon had discovered Lancelot’s magic, he’d _known_.

**“Magic is evil,”** Leon hissed. **“It _twists_ men, turns them against all they believe in, all they stand for. Lancelot…”** He faltered, then forced the words out. **“Lancelot betrayed us. I never understood it, not until Geoffrey told me about the magic.”** And he would never, _never_ understand why Geoffrey had _chosen_ to learn magic. Chosen to _use_ magic.

Sorrow and understanding shone in hazel eyes. **“You don’t believe they were born with magic, do you?”**

Leon shook his head. **“You cannot be _born_ with evil,”** he insisted. **“Magic is a choice, one that corrupts and destroys.”**

The guardsmen traded glances, the Sergeant’s gaze resting particularly on the blond. The man grimaced, then motioned for his leader to go ahead. Snapping his head back towards Leon, the Sergeant said flatly, **“Sir Lancelot died at the Isle of the Blessed, Sir Leon. You never saw him alive again after that.”**

Confusion hummed. **“Yes, we did,”** Leon countered grimly.

**“What came back to Camelot was a Shade,”** the Sergeant explained. **“Morgana used necromancy to bind Sir Lancelot and resurrect him, but he was nothing more than her puppet.”**

Percival growled, low and furious. **“What proof do you have of this?”**

**“Here.”** The black-haired guardsman was back; he held out an ancient looking book, worn, faded, and already open to a particular page.

Dread stirred, but Leon took the tome, jerking in surprise at the sight of _Gaius’_ handwriting. Gaius had written this? The knight laid the book on the curiously smooth stone colored table so Percival could read the account as well. Blue eyes snagged on the opposite page, the noble paling at the eerie skeletal figure depicted. Drawing in a breath, he read the words.

_The old legends do speak of such creatures. They call them ‘Shades’. Poor, tormented souls summoned from their rest by the necromancer’s art. They possess the physical form they had in life as well as knowledge of their own skills and name. Beyond that, they are mere shells of what they were before and can be forced to betray everything they were in life. Though Sir Lancelot was an honorable man in life; in death, he was forced by the Witch, Morgana, to seduce Lady Guinevere and thus come between her and King Arthur. After being caught, the Shade committed suicide on Morgana’s orders, taking the truth of what had occurred to its new grave. Even after the Shade’s death, the soul remained bound to Morgana until freed by magic equal to the dark magic used to raise the Shade._

No. No. Leon’s hands began to shake. It couldn’t be true, it _couldn’t_. To tear a good man from his rest and _force_ him into the basest _treachery_. **“And you _still_ believe magic isn’t evil?”** he cried, jerking away from the book as though burnt. **“You still believe it doesn’t corrupt and _destroy_ everything it touches?”**

Hazel pinned him. **“Magic is a _talent_ , just like any other,”** the guardsman insisted. **“My team, we see the worst of humanity every day. The worst twenty minutes of other people’s lives. You don’t need magic to hurt someone and magic doesn’t automatically make you a monster. Magic or no magic, people are still people, Sir Leon. And we humans have a _choice_ , every day. Magic, by _itself_ , can’t corrupt any more than any other power can.”**

Leon stared at the man. He truly believed that. He truly _believed_ that magic could be good, that those who wielded it could _choose_ to use it for good or ill. **“I have seen far more of magic than you, Sergeant. It is evil and it turns even the _best_ of us to darkness and despair. Perhaps you are right that Lancelot had no choice – that makes it even _worse_ in my eyes. Because of _magic_ , one of the _best_ knights I have ever known betrayed his King. Do not shame him by defending what destroyed him.”**

**“Well then,”** an impossibly familiar voice rang out from behind him, **“I guess I should be the most evil person in the world.”**

Leon and Percival whirled as one, gawping at _Merlin_. Merlin who regarded them with joy and sorrow, Merlin who nodded greeting to the guardsmen, Merlin who looked _exactly_ the same as he had in Camelot. Merlin who lifted his hand, a globe of blue-white light appearing above it as he continued, **“After all, I was _born_ with magic and I’m the most powerful warlock who has _ever_ existed. Or who _will_ ever exist.”**

Percival’s jaw dropped open, but Leon felt his entire world compress down to that magical light. His King’s _best friend_ had magic. A man he _knew_ possessed not an ounce of evil had magic. Something wrenched in his chest and his mind’s eye overlaid another man’s features. Geoffrey Calvin, gazing at him calmly, but with a hint of pleading.

_Please. Don’t judge me by_ her _standards. Don’t judge my_ magic _by_ her _actions._

But he had. Involuntarily, Leon’s head turned back towards the Sergeant and he _recognized_ that shade of hazel. Geoffrey’s eyes gazed at him, calm, steady, and yet that same pleading lurked in their depths. The knight’s stomach twisted. Parker had denied his team had sorcerers amongst them.

He had not denied that they had magic.


	4. A Knight's Dishonor

Merlin gazed at the two knights – at two of the best friends he’d ever had – with a sense of loss. They knew he had magic; even if he’d _wanted_ to hide that fact, he couldn’t have. There was no other way for someone from _Camelot_ to still be around in 21st century Toronto, Canada. So he hadn’t bothered. Blue eyes hardened. In fact, perhaps it was time he _finally_ gave the knights of Camelot a little _lesson_ on magic.

**“Gaius had magic,”** he announced without preamble. **“You can’t say he didn’t; even _Uther_ knew he had magic. He just gave Gaius a pardon in exchange for promising to _never_ use his magic again.”**

Leon gawped, but Percival straightened, surprise gleaming. Merlin blinked, then cocked his head to the side. Percival hadn’t been born in Camelot; it was entirely possible that the big knight _hadn’t_ known Gaius’ past. Moreover… The warlock’s head cocked further to the side. Percival wasn’t from Camelot. Was it possible…?

**“Gaius knew about my magic, but he never turned me in,”** Merlin continued, keeping his focus on Leon. **“He knew straightaway, by the way; when I first arrived in Camelot, I walked into the physician’s quarters and surprised him. He fell through a railing, but I saved him. With magic.”**

**“How?”** Curiosity rang in Percival’s voice. **“Did you heal him?”**

Merlin shook his head. **“I didn’t know any spells back then, Percival, and healing’s never been my strong suit. Magic was… _is_ …instinctive for me. I stopped time and moved Gaius’ bed underneath him.”**

**“You can stop _time_?”** Leon blurted, raw terror flashing across his face.

**“Only in short bursts,”** Merlin explained, trying not to get too testy with the knight. **“I don’t use it much.”** Narrowing his eyes, the warlock studied his friends, wishing he knew what they were thinking. **“The way _Gaius_ always explained it to me, he was the king’s ally against _dark_ magic. But he _always_ had it, Leon, even after he swore to never use it again.”**

Leon shifted nervously. **“Did he?”** At Merlin’s querying eyebrow arch, the knight elaborated. **“Did he…use…his magic?”**

Ah. Merlin inclined his head. **“When Lancelot and I went after the Cup of Life, Gaius showed up and surprised Morgause. Threw her against a wall with magic and gave me an opening to empty the Cup with Excalibur.”**

**“That destroyed the immortal army, didn’t it?”** Percival breathed, earning a brisk nod from the warlock. **“But what about you?”** the knight asked. **“What did you do with your magic?”**

Merlin fidgeted, abruptly uncomfortable. **“Mostly? I saved Arthur’s life; the prat wouldn’t have lasted a _week_ without me.”** Standing straighter, the warlock let his chin rise, determination and an odd sort of pride flaring within him. **“ _I_ defeated Nimeuh every time she attacked Camelot in my first year there. Her afanc, the wraith she raised to kill Uther, the Questing Beast she sent after Arthur. After Arthur was bitten, I killed _her_.”**

He couldn’t stop, had to make the knights _understand_. **“ _I_ defeated the spirit of Cornelius Sigen when he possessed a man and tried to destroy the whole of Camelot. After my father died and I inherited his Dragonlord powers, _I_ forced the Great Dragon to leave Camelot and _never_ again harm innocents. When Morgana returned to Camelot, working with her sister Morgause to drive the king mad and raise an undead army to attack Camelot’s defenders from behind, I stopped both attacks.”** He’d done it while injured, too, but he wasn’t about to mention _that_ part. **“Every time Morgana and Morgause tried to kill Arthur, I stopped them. When Morgana tried to frame Gwen for sorcery and get her executed, _I_ took her place.”**

Defiance blazed. **“Every time I used my magic in Camelot, I used it to _help_ people. To defend innocents against magic they couldn’t _hope_ to survive on their own.”**

**“Did you know Lancelot had magic?”** Leon demanded.

**“I wish I _had_ ,”** Merlin replied honestly, old grief bowing his shoulders. **“I might’ve handled the Isle of the Blessed differently. Maybe I could’ve _stopped_ him from marching right into the Veil and sacrificing himself. But _he_ knew about _my_ magic.”**

**“He did?”** Percival questioned, but there was a dawning curiosity and wonder that hadn’t been there before.

Merlin nodded. **“I helped him slay the griffin that attacked Camelot,”** the warlock explained. **“He, uh, he may have noticed when his lance lit up in blue flames.”**

**“Lit up in blue _flames_?”** Leon’s jaw hung open and Percival started snickering.

**“Not very subtle, are you?”** the big knight teased.

The warlock flushed bright red, pointedly ignoring the sniggers from Team One as well as Spike and Lou’s quiet speculation on _how_ exactly he’d avoided detection for so long in Camelot.

Leon’s gaze, though, went hard. **“And Morgana? Did _she_ know about your magic?”**

Merlin shook his head. **“Not until the end, Leon. Mordred told her.”**

**“You told Mordred?”** Percival asked, hurt sparking in the question.

Grimacing, Merlin shook his head again. **“Mordred was a druid, Percival. He knew me on sight.”** Running a hand through his hair, the warlock explained, **“I first met Mordred when he was still a boy. Leon might remember…he was the druid boy who escaped from Camelot’s dungeons.”**

Leon’s jaw dropped again. **“ _You_ got him out!”**

Yet again, the warlock shook his head. **“I helped, but it was Arthur who got him out, Leon. The Great Dragon told me that Mordred was destined to kill Arthur, so I hesitated, but in the end, I blew apart a grate they needed to get through to escape the city.”**

Drawing in a deep breath, Merlin met Leon’s eyes. **“As for Morgana, she was born with her magic, just like me. When it manifested, she was terrified. Anyone would be; living right in the heart of Camelot, under Uther’s nose. Gaius and I made it worse by not helping her, but ultimately, it was _her_ choice to side with Morgause over her own family. It was _her_ choice to attack Camelot again and again, it was _her_ choice to keep striving after a throne that was never hers, and it was _her_ choice to never give Arthur a chance to learn that magic isn’t evil.”**

Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Merlin elaborated, **“Every time I got close to telling Arthur about my magic, every time I thought _maybe_ he was learning the truth, she would attack again and ruin _everything_. She even gave Agravaine a cursed pendent to put around Uther’s neck, _ensuring_ that my healing spell _wouldn’t_ heal him. Instead, it _destroyed_ his heart.”** Tears slipped down Merlin’s cheeks. **“I was so close,”** he whispered. **“I was so close to proving that magic isn’t evil and she _ruined_ it.”**

* * * * *

Leon stared at Merlin, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. Percival stepped forward, his own words tentative. **“Merlin? You and Morgana? You were both _born_ with magic?”** The real question rang. _How is that possible?_

Merlin brushed his tears away. **“Gaius once told me that warlocks and witches are born with magic while sorcerers have to study it and learn how to harness it. That’s…not exactly right.”**

The curly-haired knight blinked, caught off guard. **“It’s not?”**

**“No,”** Merlin replied firmly. **“ _Everyone_ capable of using magic is _born_ with it, Leon. It’s just that warlocks and witches have to learn how to _control_ their magic because they have so much of it. If we don’t learn how to control it, it becomes wild. Unpredictable. Morgana…before she studied magic, it was tied to her emotions. She’d get angry and it would lash out. But not even the best sorcerer could use magic unless they were _born_ with it.”**

Realization was dawning and dread, too. **“You mean…Uther was killing people for something they had no control over?”**

The grief in Merlin’s eyes was ancient. Ringing louder than any words could. **“Yes, Leon, he was. Magic isn’t something you can destroy. So long as _any_ living being walks the Earth, so too will magic.”**

**“Life itself is magic,”** one of the guardsmen whispered. **“Ancient and more powerful than we’ve ever understood.”**

Despite the churning emotions, Leon steadied himself. Met Merlin’s gaze with a glare. **“You honestly expect me to believe all of that? You expect me to believe that people are born with magic, that magic isn’t evil? Assuming you’re telling the truth, you’ve been lying to all of us since you first came to Camelot. Why did you never tell us?”** _Why should we believe you?_

Merlin flinched. **“I wanted to, Leon. After Arthur stopped being so much of a prat, there were so _many_ times I wanted to just throw it all to the wind and _tell_ him. Stop hiding my very _self_ from my _best friends_.”**

**“So why didn’t you?”** Leon demanded again.

**“At first, well, we didn’t know each other. Then I didn’t want to come between Arthur and his father.”** Merlin paused, as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to keep going, then the onetime servant’s shoulders slumped. **“You don’t know what it’s like, Leon. To have a secret that could get you _killed_ if the wrong person finds out. When I was little, I didn’t understand. I couldn’t. So Mother would build up the fire in our house and tell me about how the bloodcloaks would come and take us away if anyone found out about my magic. She…she told me the bloodcloaks and the Dragon king would burn us alive.”**

Leon jerked back in horror, but Merlin wasn’t done.

**“When Will found out about my magic, she was so _angry_. Terrified that I’d be found out. That’s when she sent me to Camelot and Gaius. So I’d learn how to control my magic better and…”**

**“And what?”** His own fear and anger rang.

Merlin cringed away from the knight. **“So I’d _see_ what the Dragon king did to people with magic. And I did. The day I got to Camelot, there was an execution in the square.”** The warlock shrank back, as if he _couldn’t_ turn Leon to paste with just a word. **“I wanted to tell all of you, Leon, but I couldn’t. I was afraid. Afraid of getting caught by Uther and his bloodcloaks.”**

The self-proclaimed most powerful sorcerer ever born was afraid of him. Had just called him and every one of his fellow knights ‘bloodcloaks’, with Uther as the ‘Dragon king’. Leon held his stance, but it was with an effort. His _friend_ was _afraid_ of him. But… Merlin was right – what _did_ he know of living with such a deadly secret? When had he _ever_ had to hide anything from those he counted friends? What did _he_ know of a life where you were taught from birth to hide ‘your very self’ from everyone around you?

**“Did you _ever_ tell anyone about your magic?”** The question slipped free without thought.

Merlin considered, blue flicking back and forth as he thought. **“Freya,”** he finally whispered. **“But she died.”** His face crumpled and Leon knew he dared not ask more about her. **“And Will died and Lancelot died and Gaius nearly died trying to keep Morgana from finding out who I was.”** Trembling, the secret warlock looked down. **“They all died, Leon. Everyone who knew about my magic…”**

He wanted to deny it. Wanted to laugh in Merlin’s face and scorn every word he’d spoken as just lies. But this was _Merlin_. Merlin who followed his prince and then his King like an affectionate puppy. Merlin who’d breached the barrier between peasant and noble to _befriend_ a royal. Merlin who’d made friends with commoner and noble alike, standing with Camelot through thick and thin. And while Leon had _known_ Arthur was Merlin’s _best friend_ , he’d always liked the manservant, even before he’d really, truly gotten to know Merlin. Once he had… Merlin was his friend, just like the other knights, commoner or no.

And while Merlin had _certainly_ lied in the past, he had _never_ lied about the important things. Every time his King had dismissed Merlin’s counsel, it had turned out badly. Which meant Camelot had turned against its own people. Men, women, _children_. All of them had been sent to die for _nothing_ more than how they’d been _born_. All the enemies that had come against Camelot – had been of Uther’s making. In attacking magic, he’d destroyed his family and his own kingdom. Not even Merlin’s power had been enough to turn the tide in the end. Dear gods, Merlin had lost more than _any_ of them.

As one of Uther’s knights, _Leon_ had been part of that barbarism. He’d _murdered_ innocents, killed those who’d only fought in _self-defense_. Had violated his oaths more times than he could count. He’d _sworn_ to defend Camelot and her people; instead, he’d helped _destroy_ his beloved home. Helped to drive out anyone and everyone who might’ve come to Camelot’s aid in the fight against _real_ evil.

The noble began to shake as the truth crashed down on him. Merlin wasn’t the monster, _he_ was. How many children had grown up living in fear of him and his fellow ‘bloodcloaks’? How many had _he_ led to their deaths at the hands of the ‘Dragon king’? How had Merlin been able to _stand_ it, being so close to those who would _murder_ him for nothing more than how he’d been _born_? Why? Why had Merlin fought to _protect_ them when they so clearly didn’t _deserve_ it? Why…why would _Merlin_ call them his _best friends_?

* * * * *

When Sir Leon’s shoulders began to tremble, Greg knew the knight had hit his breaking point. Merlin and Percival’s expressions turned alarmed, but the Sergeant waved them off, rounding the briefing table and grabbing the knight’s shoulders. **“Hey,”** he whispered. **“You didn’t know. You had no way _to_ know.”**

The brunet jerked away as if burnt, but Greg refused to relent. **“If you’d refused to follow Uther’s orders, _you_ would have been on the chopping block, _too_. It is _not_ your fault that you didn’t know – it’s _Uther’s_ , for lying to you and everyone else in Camelot. He lied to you, to his own son, and he spent _years_ hiding the truth. I wouldn’t be surprised if he _believed_ his own lies in the end.”**

**“That doesn’t excuse it,”** Sir Leon hissed. **“What I’ve done…”** The knight looked quite sick as the enormity of his own actions sank in.

**“Did I blame you for the Lamia?”** Merlin asked suddenly.

The knight froze.

**“I _didn’t_ , Leon, because I _knew_ it wasn’t your fault. Well, _this_ isn’t either. You had no more control over Uther’s orders than you had over the Lamia’s enchantment.”**

**“I should’ve known better.”**

**“How?”** Greg inquired, arching a pointed brow. **“You were _raised_ with stories of how evil magic is. Camelot was attacked, time and time again, by sorcerers who did little more than ‘prove’ Uther right. How were you supposed to know any differently?”**

**“Sergeant Parker’s right, Leon,”** Merlin interjected. **“Uther played with fire and got burned; it was easier to blame magic than to accept his own role in Queen Ygraine’s death. And once those who knew the truth were dead or intimidated, there was nothing to counter his claims.”** The warlock shook his head, eyes bright with unshed tears. **“Leon, I _know_ you. You’re no more evil than _I_ am. I was _proud_ to fight for Camelot, to fight for my _home_ and my friends. Do you know what my biggest regret has _always_ been?”**

Blue met blue, Sir Leon’s question clear.

**“My biggest regret is that I couldn’t save _everyone_ ,”** Merlin rasped. **“Gods, I wanted to. I wanted to so badly, I nearly got Gwen killed.”**

The knight’s eyes widened in shock. **“You really _did_ heal her father, didn’t you?”**

Merlin nodded. **“But you can’t save everyone, Leon. I couldn’t even save my best friends.”**

Greg shifted back, out of the way, his instincts murmuring. Now was the time. The time that Merlin stood before his first friends – his _best friends_ – with no more lies between them and accepted their judgment of his actions.

A smile crossed the negotiator’s face as Sir Leon hesitated an instant longer, studying Merlin uncertainly, then he reached out and dragged the warlock in close, not hugging him, but so clearly accepting him that more was quite unnecessary. Sir Percival joined them, resting one hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

For the first time since the death of Sir Lancelot, Merlin had two best friends who knew about his magic. And didn’t care a jot.


	5. Temporal Paradox

Even a good hour later, Merlin could still hardly believe it. Two of the knights _knew_ about his magic and they’d _accepted_ him. Oh, Lancelot had known, as had Will, but the latter had never been a knight and Lancelot had known about his magic prior to earning that particular honor. Knowing what he did now, well… It was a bit less of a mystery as to why Lancelot hadn’t turned him in straightaway. Though Merlin had to wonder why the griffin had attacked a _gryphon_ Animagus. Competition, perhaps?

Team One had left the three Cameloteans alone to talk, sensing that Merlin and his friends needed to talk. Needed to get it all out in the open and answer any lingering questions. Of which there had been many. Most had, of course, been Leon’s, but Percival had asked his fair share as well. Merlin answered them all, holding nothing back. Not the good, not the bad, though Merlin did try to downplay the dangerous or disgusting bits. Particularly when Leon asked about the troll.

**“So how did you meet these guardsmen?”** Leon finally asked.

Merlin fidgeted. **“I’ve been…living as a hermit more and more these days,”** he admitted. **“Then a goblin contacted me out of the blue one day.”**

Percival’s eyes widened. **“Like the thing you cast out of Gaius?”**

Oh yes, Leon _had_ asked about that as well. The warlock shook his head. **“No, completely different,”** he replied. **“These goblins may be just as obsessed with gold, but they are…honorable…within their own code. These days… There is little love lost between goblins and wizards, but goblins honor treaties and contracts to the letter. They run one of the only banks in the wizarding world.”**

**“Banks?”** Leon echoed, confusion glittering.

Merlin grimaced. **“Money lenders, Leon. It’s more complicated than that, but that’s the gist of it. Anyway, _this_ goblin and his family have been the account managers for the House of Calvin for a _very_ long time. Long enough to know about a spell I gave to Geoffrey.”**

**“What kind of spell?”** Percival asked.

The ancient warlock blanched and both knights froze.

**“Merlin?”** Leon pressed gently.

Blue eyes met theirs, so _old_ and full of grief. **“After…after Gwen died, Camelot fell. Geoffrey was still alive, but…”** Drawing in a deep breath, Merlin raked his hands through his hair. **“I went back to the Crystal Cave, seeking answers to questions I’d had. For a long time. That’s when I found out.”**

**“Found out what?”**

Merlin dropped his gaze, shuddering. **“Lancelot. I…I was able to free him; Morgana could never again use him as a Shade, but…”** Crumpling, the warlock whispered, **“His soul. It was bound to her fate. When she died, she was sent to a demon realm called the Netherworld.”**

Leon stilled, horror blazing. **“And so was Lancelot.”**

**“Yes,”** Merlin confirmed softly. **“I crafted a spell capable of reaching the Netherworld, but it needed knights to work. A warlock of Calvin blood and six knights willing to brave the Netherworld and bring a lost soul home.”**

**“What happened?”** Percival prodded.

Merlin’s head rose. **“Some of the story is not mine to tell.”** The knights nodded acceptance of his caveat. **“The short version is that Sergeant Parker’s soul was banished to the Netherworld. He and his young cousins are descended from Geoffrey so they could use the spell. His cousins and his team found my spell, stormed the Netherworld, and brought _two_ lost souls home.”** A crooked smile emerged. **“Since then, I’ve been pulled back into the magical world. Parker’s cousins came to me, asking me to help with a healing bracelet for one of his teammates. I’ve crafted wands for them, confronted a witch who kidnapped young Lance on his birthday, and watched as a team of non-magicals set the whole of the wizarding world on its ear.”**

**“But they have magic,”** Leon protested.

Merlin’s gaze hardened. **“None of them have enough magic to be wizards, Leon. In the eyes of those who rule the wizarding world, they are little more than nuisances. Less than _dirt_ and hardly worth the bother. Every bit of respect they have, they have _fought_ for, bled for, and nearly _died_ for.”** He shook his head. **“In many ways, Leon, they are _just_ like you and the knights. Confronting magic with little more than steel and courage. It’s just that _now_ , the weapons of the non-magical world have advanced to the point that they can _match_ magic. Even _beat_ magic.”** A faint smile appeared. **“But don’t let that fool you either. They _do_ have magical allies and they _will_ fight with magical weapons and alongside wizards when the situation calls for it.”**

Leon was caught off guard. In a very real way, these _guardsmen_ fought more effectively than the Knights of Camelot did. Never wholly trading one style of fighting for another, leveraging both to the greatest advantage. **“They have…trained…to fight with magic?”**

A tiny smile twitched Merlin’s mouth. **“They’ve learned it all on the job, Leon. They only found out magic is real five years ago.”** About to continue, the warlock stiffened as a pulse of magic radiated out from the knights. Magic he knew all too well, for it drew an answering echo from within himself.

Temporal magic.

* * * * *

For an instant, Merlin froze. Temporal magic from two men who didn’t have so much as a _flicker_ of magic. How? Then his head snapped around at a frantic yell from outside the room. No. _Two_.

“Jules!”

“Ed!”

The warlock bolted, oblivious to the knights only a step behind him. One hand slapped the briefing room’s controls, the blue panels all sliding sideways and open as the steel door rose. Outside, Sergeant Parker and Constable Wordsworth hovered over Ed Lane while their teammates ranged around Jules Callaghan. Both officers were on their knees, both were gasping in clear pain, and both were _flickering_ in and out of sight. Magic flexed in the air and Merlin seized it, forcing the temporal pulse _back_. Determinedly, he gripped it, teeth baring as his own magic dissipated the foreign magic. Time steadied, Lane and Callaghan snapping fully back into view, but the warlock knew it wouldn’t last for long.

Indeed, now that he was paying attention, he could already sense another building temporal pulse around the knights. Even worse, it made sense; when they’d been forced forward in time, a new timeline had been created, the effects of the time travel rippling out through history to affect the present. Merlin was powerful enough to keep the changes at bay for _now_ , but eventually the pulses would be too strong, even for _him_.

“What was that?” Parker demanded as Wordsworth pulled Lane up and Braddock helped Callaghan back to her feet.

**“Merlin?”** Percival asked, eyeing the officers with wariness and concern.

The warlock glanced between his friends and Team One, then swore fluently in the Old Tongue. He blinked when Team One, to a man, flinched at his language. Understanding broke through when the depths of Parker’s eyes flickered scarlet. Then he swore a second time – this time in a mix of Ancient Greek and Egyptian.

To his utter shock, Team One flinched _again_.

* * * * *

“What was that?” Sam hissed before Merlin could find _another_ language to swear in – he had a nasty feeling it didn’t matter what language the ancient warlock used. Somehow, some _way_ , he and his teammates would understand. Perfectly and in _far_ too much detail.

“Temporal realignment,” Merlin spat, incandescent fury rolling off him.

Spike’s eyes widened in terror even as Lou asked, “Huh?”

Whirling, Merlin stalked back into the briefing room, ignoring the hovering, bewildered knights. Team One followed warily, their boss tapping the controls to close the door and swing the room’s panels shut. Once inside, the Sergeant cleared his throat, casting the warlock an expectant look.

Grim, with a touch of foreboding, Merlin switched languages and explained, **“You have changed Time yourselves, Sergeant Parker. Surely you knew there was a reason the Unspeakables demanded that you restrict your time travel to a mere twenty-four hours.”**

The knights gawped, but Merlin shook his head at them. Sam understood; there was no _time_.

**“You mean, going back further would have risked something like _this_?”** the blond sniper rasped out.

Lou shook his head. **“Only for me ‘n’ Jules, Sam.”** When attention swung to him, he sighed. **“That’s why it’s happening, isn’t it? Time changed and reality’s trying to adjust?”**

Realization swept the room. Sam nearly choked, horror rising up to strangle him. **“You mean… Because the knights were sent _here_ , Jules and Ed… They don’t _exist_ anymore?”** It was a horrid and appalling thing to say; he hated himself even as he spoke the words.

**“Precisely,”** Merlin replied gravely. **“History itself has changed because Leon and Percival _disappeared_. It may seem a small thing, but the greatest of changes often come from such events.”**

Sam shuddered again as another issue presented itself. **“Shouldn’t _Sarge_ be affected, too?”**

**“An excellent question,”** Merlin acknowledged. **“Apparently, the lineage of the Calvin family remains unaffected, though I speculate that several… _personal_ …histories have likely altered.”**

Sarge paled, but hazel darted to his best friend and then the team’s backup negotiator, fear for _them_ burning brighter than his fear for himself. **“There’s going to be more ripples, aren’t there.”**

Merlin cringed. **“I can hold back the initial ripple, for _now_ , but the longer Leon and Percival remain…”** He trailed off pointedly, both knights and officers shuddering at the implications. Softly, he confirmed Sam’s unspoken terror. **“It is likely that _other_ ripples would be caused by the first, further altering reality as we know it.”**

No more Jules. No more Ed. No more _Team One_. Sam felt his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed convulsively. Even worse was the knowledge that once Time altered, he wouldn’t _remember_ the original history. He’d never even _suspect_ that he was missing the best part of his _life_.

**“How do we _fix_ it?”** Ed demanded, though the normally fearless team leader had drifted closer to his two best friends. Both of them instinctively bracketed him, as if terrified that he would _vanish_ , right in front of them. Even worse, what should’ve been just an idle, if macabre, fantasy, suddenly _wasn’t_.

The warlock’s gaze hardened. **“I would have thought _that_ would be obvious, Constable Lane. We must send Leon and Percival home.”** Switching his gaze to the knights, he arched a brow. **“What was occurring right before you arrived here?”**

Sir Leon answered readily. **“We were fighting a hydra near the village of Longshore.”**

Sam didn’t know what he’d expected, but Merlin paling in horror and taking a step back _wasn’t_ it.


	6. Going Back to Die

Merlin recoiled. The hydra. The blasted, _bloody_ hydra. The _thing_ that had _slaughtered_ two of his last remaining best friends. Anguish washed over him; he hadn’t known the knights were going, not until after they’d been gone three days. He’d yelled at Gwen for _not telling him_ and gone after them as fast as he could, but he’d been too late. He could still remember the _crunch_ of Leon hitting a huge rock, Percival already dead as he arrived, fire in his hands and a shielding spell on his lips. So great had been his fury that the hydra’s _ashes_ had been scattered to the four winds by the time he was done. Then he’d wept over his friends’ broken bodies, screaming curses and damning Kilgharrah for _lying_ to him so completely about ‘Albion’.

That had been the day he’d given up on the prophecies – even after Arthur’s death, he’d clung to the dragon’s promises. But that day… He’d known then that Albion was _nothing_ but a _lie_. A convenient hook for the Great Dragon to use against the boy he’d been, to shape him and mold him much as he’d shaped and molded Arthur. Morgana. Mordred. Even the knights.

Later, he’d gone back to believing in the prophecies, but mostly because he’d had _nothing_ left. Everyone he’d ever loved was gone and he himself was immortal. What else was there for an ancient relic living far past his days? For anyone who asked, he still believed, with every fiber of his being, that Arthur would return one day. But privately, no, he didn’t believe and hadn’t for a very long time. Because even _if_ Arthur returned, it had never been just Arthur. It had been Gwen and Gaius and every last one of the knights. Without _them_ , having _Arthur_ back meant _nothing_.

And now… Merlin felt himself start to shake. To save his new friends, he had to damn the old. Sentence them to certain _death_ by sending them back to the _hydra_. Fate and Destiny had asked so _much_ of him already, _how_ could they ask _this_ of him? How could they _demand_ that he _murder_ his best friends?

But how could he forsake the new? Merlin was no fool; Callaghan and Lane would only be the beginning. With each new ripple, the world he knew, the friendships he’d forged, they would alter, leaving nothing of the history _he_ remembered. And he _would_ remember, just as there was a part of him who remembered the timeline Team One had thoroughly, utterly destroyed in their bid to halt World War III. Already, another part of him knew what the new history would hold.

An arrogant Wild Mage Auror, sent in to manage a fledgling effort to merge the worlds. A casually cruel dictator who used his innate knowledge and understanding of human nature to _manipulate_ the ‘Muggles’ into believing he _cared_ for them. A half-blood wizard, seething under his Wild Mage superior and working to undermine the Muggles at every turn, perfectly willing to make _himself_ look bad if that meant making the _others_ look even worse. And a group of Muggles, at first oblivious and then resentful of the situation they’d been forced into. The beginnings of a modern day Purge, orchestrated by the very same individuals who’d _prevented_ it in _this_ timeline. For where there was potential to build, to create, there was also the potential to demolish and destroy.

If he saved Leon and Percival, he would kill Team One. He would kill _everything_ they’d fought for, that _he_ had fought for. Magic would die, leaving only the immortal Emrys standing. But if he saved Team One, he would destroy himself. The guilt for _murdering_ his best friends would crush him, ripping him apart and leaving naught but a shell of a man. Not even the knowledge that he’d saved all of history, all of the magical world, would diminish his guilt. For what was he without Camelot? What was he if he _betrayed_ his King and his kingdom?

The temporal pulse attempted, once more, to ripple outwards, drawing pained yelps from the officers, their friends catching them before they could collapse. Merlin let gold blaze in his eyes as he threw his hands out sideways, catching the ripple with his command over Time. The ripple fought him, struggling and straining against his refusal to let it eliminate _his_ reality. Another surge of magic flexed in the air; Parker attempting to _anchor_ Callaghan and Lane with what little magic he possessed, but such an effort was futile at best. Wild Magic could not affect _Time_ , not as Merlin’s magic could. Even if Parker _could_ succeed, he wasn’t immune to the temporal changes. As soon as his new history took effect, he wouldn’t be the empathic Wild Mage Squib-born, nor the experienced negotiator and police Sergeant any more. In his new persona, he wouldn’t _remember_ his former teammates. Why cling to those he didn’t know and who possessed not a _scrap_ of magic?

The warlock’s eyes glowed even brighter as the temporal pulse fought harder against his hold. Refusing to relent, refusing to dissipate; the magic pressed ever harder against Emrys, _demanding_ he release it. Snarling outrage at his refusal to permit its passage. Softly, with an intensity none of his friends, old or new, had ever heard before, he whispered, **“You cannot have my friends.”**

“Thou canst not endure forever, Emrys.”

The speaker materialized just beyond Team One, glowing with an unearthly power. Light surrounded the woman’s form, so bright that the humans shielded their eyes automatically. After a moment, the glow dimmed; long braided white hair framed a face that looked human, but was so perfect that it couldn’t be. The features were perfectly symmetrical, the very ideal of what a human female should be, save for her slightly pointed ears. Pouty lips curved up in a secretive smile, their ruby hue obscured by the light blue glow around her.

“Who are you?” Merlin hissed, his magic prickling. He’d felt magic like hers once. Near the bodies of two of his best friends.

The smile grew, the stranger dipping her head in a formal half-bow. “In the tongue of Men, I am Luthien.” She gestured, the blue around slim fingers intensifying. The temporal pulse dissipated, leaving Merlin panting and wary.

The warlock stiffened. **“You brought them here,”** he accused.

Sorrow flashed in her silver eyes. **“As I hath been commanded, so hath I done,”** she acknowledged.

Commanded? **“Who commanded this?”** Merlin pressed, eyes turning gold once more.

**“My people follow the Lion,”** Luthien replied, tossing her head. **“The Dark One ever strives for the downfall of the World of Men, scorning the Lion and His Father. War is at hand, young warlock, and even _thy_ great power wilt not prevail. Not if thou wishes the dawn of Albion.”**

Chills ran up Merlin’s back. **“Albion is a _lie_ ,”** he spat.

To his surprise, Luthien laughed, a light, twinkling laugh that seemed to fill the room with joy and the innocent playfulness of a child. **“Albion is no lie, young warlock,”** she countered. **“But the old dragon used thee, Emrys, to secure his own aims, and oft led thee astray.”** Sorrow gleamed once more. **“The Dark One’s prophecies are oft self-fulling.”** Shaking her head, she remarked, **“Albion is the dream of many, an ideal to be sought, even if it canst not be obtained.”**

**“And _you’re_ not using _us_?”** Wordsworth snapped, indignation smoldering. **“If you brought the knights here, you _must_ have known it would change Time.”**

Luthien ignored Wordsworth and cocked her head to the side, studying Leon. He met her gaze steadily and without the automatic revulsion that would have been present only hours before. **“The lesson is learned,”** she mused. **“And shalt not be forgotten again.”** Silver brightened, the light around her beginning to pulse. **“It is well done.”**

Before Merlin could stop her, she lifted her hands, gesturing to his friends. Blue swarmed the knights and they vanished, the woman vanishing as well.

* * * * *

Leon reached for his sword as the hydra, far too _close_ , snatched Percival off the ground, an ugly _crunch_ sealing the big knight’s fate. Another head rammed him sideways and he was lifted off his feet, flying backwards at a huge rock.

He struck; the world turned black.

* * * * *

Luthien lowered her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. “It is well done,” she whispered, “Though I shalt grieve for thee a thousand years and more.”

Blue light surrounded her slim frame and she vanished, the anguished cry of the young warlock ringing in her ears.

* * * * *

An instant later, the woman reappeared, without the knights, tears streaming down her face.

“What have you done?” Merlin raged, golden fire leaping around him; Team One wisely split and dove out of the way, leaving only the two potential combatants standing.

“A thousand years and more hath I grieved this moment,” Luthien replied, her voice steady. “Heed my words, Emrys. Camelot rises, young warlock; the Dragons of Old return, but beware the White Dragon. Her loyalty remains with the Witch and neither wilt turn aside from the Dark One’s path. Thou canst not prevail against them alone. Allies aplenty thee possesses, but thou must seek more. Seek ye the son of the White Dragon, seek ye the guardians of Old, those that guard the Heart of Magic.”

Silver glowed, the light around Luthien growing as she spoke. “Summon ye the Traitors who remain faithful to their King. Summon ye the Sons of Magic, allied to the Last of Narnia.” A faint smile emerged. “The High King will ride once more, leading Narnia to war and calling even the Stars to take heed of the doings of Men.”

“Why did you kill them?” Merlin roared. “Answer me!”

“The Days of Men are written in the Book of Life, Emrys, and even _thine_ must come to an End.” Luthien’s chin rose. “The Dark One demanded that the Court of Camelot walk once more amongst the Living.”

Pressed against one of the blue poly-carbon panels, Parker stiffened, recognition and memory sparking in hazel orbs.

“The Emperor permitted such, for it twas written in His Book from the dawn of Time.” The woman met Merlin’s eyes, her silver capturing his blue. “Do not grieve, Emrys. Keep watch, for thy vigil draws near its end.”

So saying, Luthien bowed, her light growing so bright that the humans were forced to turn away. When they could look again, she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please pray for me. I have an interview with a recruiter in a couple of hours and I think I nearly went from the frying pan into the fire last night. Let's just say I was being offered a job on the spot, but it was so hasty and shady that my parents and I were seeing red flags going up by the _millisecond_.
> 
> Plus the guy couldn't type in proper English grammar, misspelled my name right off the bat (even though this was LinkedIn and he could see my name), and asked me if I was a Green Card Holder even though it should be dead obvious that I'm an American citizen. And he seemed to want my decision on the spot, even though I was on the phone with him and had to hang up because my job was calling. I mean, bad first impression, yet he wants to steam-roll right ahead? Hello, red flags.


	7. Epilogue

The tall curly-haired constable buried a groan as he crept into the locker room. Talk about an utterly _horrid_ night. Full of nightmares about fighting for his life. With a sword, in chainmail, against creatures right out of myth and legend. “That does it,” he mumbled to himself, “No more Dragon Age marathons on the weekend.”

Sighing, he opened up his locker, carefully ignoring the dark circles under his eyes. Instead, he focused on his uniform and the numerous tasks on his plate as the team leader for Team Four. Jeans were traded for pants, one hand briefly pausing where he could’ve _sworn_ there should have been a scar, but the skin was smooth. Unmarked. Shaking his head and burying a yawn, he swapped sneakers for boots, lacing them tight and doing his best to stifle the part of himself that insisted the boots should’ve been _leather_. That was just the nightmares talking.

The constable straightened as the door behind him swung open. Couldn’t he have had a _little_ more time to himself? “Morning,” he offered tonelessly without turning.

“Morning,” the other constable replied, just as toneless.

Blue sharpened, but still didn’t budge from the locker. Much as he didn’t want to tackle even _more_ problems, he asked, “Bad night?”

“Just some bad dreams.”

Ah. Crisis averted. “I know the feeling,” the team leader agreed, shrugging into his uniform shirt and buttoning it up. He paused, feeling as if getting his uniform on should’ve taken _longer_. As if he was missing something… Blinking, he surveyed himself. No, everything on and in place, at least as far as the locker room was concerned.

“See you out there?” the other officer inquired.

“Yeah, sure thing.” The constable shut his locker, forcing a bit more pep into his voice than he felt. Just another part of the job. Turning, he started for the door, then froze. His head snapped around, _literally_ at the same time as his fellow constable whirled.

“Leon?”

“Percival?”

Even as the two men gawped at each other, the locker room door swung open. Leon’s jaw clicked shut, though blue nearly bulged. Gwaine. Elyan. _Lancelot_. And coming in right behind them was Team Four’s new bomb tech, Mordred, followed by their Sergeant, Troy Vio.

Leon glanced back at Percival, both knights wondering the same thing: _Where the heck is Arthur?_

* * * * *

The blond man walking down the road shuffled a bit further to the side when he heard noise from behind him. Glancing back, he spied another one of the metal carriages coming and scrambled to hide in the forest next to the road. Keen blue studied the odd, self-propelled craft. Magic, it had to be. And yet, not a single _one_ of those inside looked like sorcerers. Rather, they reminded him of Camelot’s people. Men and women going about their days, with common, ordinary concerns.

The thought was bewildering, almost more so than the fact that he had yet to encounter a single patrol. Surely such a well maintained road required frequent patrols to deal with the bandits; how else would travelers avoid losing all they possessed? Unless the metal carriages could fend off bandits by _themselves_.

The metal carriage disappeared down the road, though the sound of its passage remained, an unusual puttering sound mixed with a curious rumble. Almost like a larger version of some of Gaius’ experiments. Arthur stepped out from the trees, one hand resting on Excalibur’s hilt.

_Seek the guardsmen,_ the Lady of the Lake had said. _The ones who guard both magic and mundane. There you will find all that you have lost._ Before he’d been able to ask anything, she’d smiled sadly and faded away, right before his eyes.

But where was he supposed to find guardsmen idiotic enough to guard _magic_? Didn’t they _know_ what magic was? How it twisted and corrupted even the _best_ of men? And how was he supposed to find _anything_ in this crazy, mixed up world of metal beasts and roads so smooth that they _must_ have been built with _magic_?

“Greetings, young king.”

He whirled, but though he pulled on Excalibur’s hilt, the sword never left its sheath. The woman behind him tilted her chin down, a secretive smile pulling at ruby lips. Silver eyes caught his and a whisper of magical words brought him down, collapsing forward into her hold. A slim, perfect hand stroked his hair, the touch more soothing than alluring. He strained to free himself from her spell, but mind and body relaxed, a sigh of contentment escaping.

Light blue magic surrounded him, coming from the woman’s very _skin_. Then they were gone.

In the woods nearby, a large black jaguar with bat-like wings watched the pair disappear, a hint of a smile around her muzzle. _So it begins once more._

* * * * *

Less than a minute after the woman and her prize vanished, another woman appeared, shrieking fury and outrage. Green eyes blazed with hate and her raven curls were piled on top of her head and matted, arranged with hardly a passing semblance to the noblewoman she’d once been.

“ _Merlin…_ ” she hissed.

* * * * *

We meet again, at the turn of the tide.  
A great storm is coming, but the tide has turned.  
 _~Gandalf the White, Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers_

_~ Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue _Merlin_...oops, I mean _Flashpoint_ ending music* I hope everyone enjoyed the latest story - the background is beginning to heat up and all roads will (eventually) lead to one heck of a showdown between the forces of Good and the forces of Evil. But, as I said, that's quite a ways away from us and we've got a lot of ground to cover between now and then.
> 
> As always, I adore comments and I treasure each and every one I receive, so please, read and comment.
> 
> Moving on, we'll be heading straight into a much smaller (relatively speaking) showdown as we cruise into the final leg of Season 4. So please join us as we start "However Improbable" this Friday, September 4th 2020.
> 
> On a RL note, it took until yesterday at 4 PM, but I finally did manage to speak to the recruiter that I was _supposed_ to talk with on _Friday_. I'm hoping my persistence wins me some points and for what it's worth, after I sent him my resume, he sent me a message on LinkedIn that it looked great.
> 
> From what I understand, the position he's looking to fill is a permanent position, so I'd be an employee, not a contractor. Since contractors don't get benefits, I'm definitely looking for an employee position like the one I have now. It's also a development job rather than platform support, so I'm trying not to hold my breath, but I'm hoping and praying that this might be my new job.
> 
> See You on the Battlefield!


End file.
